ABCJ01—When Dixie Calls
by VST
Summary: While on a brief vacation, Brisco receives a mysterious cry for help from the ever-delectable Miss Dixie Cousins. Under such circumstances, what's a bounty hunter to do but go to her rescue, catch the bad guys, and collect his sweet reward? Western adventure with a bit of humor and a hint, or more, of romance. Or something like that. Complete!
1. Ch 1: The Telegram

**ABCJ01—When Dixie Calls  
** by VStarTraveler

 ** _Summary:_** _While on a brief vacation, Brisco receives a mysterious cry for help from the ever delectable Miss Dixie Cousins. Under such circumstances, what's a bounty hunter to do but go to her rescue, catch the bad guys, and collect his sweet reward?_

 ** _Disclaimer:_** _This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of the world of The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., is entirely my own. The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., and any and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners._

 ** _Author's Note:_** _I've been considering a Brisco story for quite some time, and even played with the start of an outline for it. This story is NOT from that outline. Instead, it was inspired in part by the prompts from a particular challenge that included six wacky prompt words and chapter 7 being prompt-free to allow the story to wrap up. Of course, with Dixie's corset, maybe wrapping up would be going in entirely the wrong direction!_

 _Since I didn't have time to complete the challenge (which will be revealed, along with the prompt words, in the final chapter), I decided to diverge a bit from the prompts and take my time to, hopefully, tell this story the right way. Chapters will be posted after they've been completed and polished but won't be on any fixed schedule. I'm not as far along on this as I'd like; however, since I also didn't want a second year to go by without a posting in this category, here is Chapter 1..._

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Telegram  
**

It was a hot, summer afternoon in the year 1894 and the dusty man sitting at the side table looked quite out of place in San Francisco's exclusive Westerfield Club. It had been a hard, hot trip, but it had been successful.

Festes Crump, one of the Bly Gang's secret financial backers, had been apprehended and turned over to the San Francisco constabulary for justice. As an inside member of the city's financial establishment, Crump had provided Bly with information on potentially profitable heists and then helped hide the funds taken in the robberies. It was the dusty man at the table sipping from a glass that had actually tracked and ultimately captured Mr. Crump.

The other man at the table was quite the opposite of his dusty companion; he looked very much at home in the exclusive surroundings. Socrates Poole, dressed in his immaculate striped suit and looking through his thick, round glasses smiled across the table at his friend. He was quite happy about Mr. Crump taking up his new residence in the city's barred hotel. Socrates, after all, had been the one to discover the connection between Crump and Bly before turning the information over to his bosses.

In need of sleep and enjoying his beverage greatly, the tired and dusty Brisco County, Jr., the San Francisco robber barons' appointed bounty hunter in charge of bringing the Bly Gang to justice, had already put the criminal Crump out of his mind.

"You know, Soc, I think this iced water in the summer time is going to really catch on, but having the guy in the back breaking up the big ice blocks could be a problem. I think they need to change the big ice makers so they make it in little pieces that fit right in the glass. That's it! Cubed ices. If someone was to invest in enough of these mechanized ice making things that made cubed ices, every restaurant and saloon in the West would want one. It could be the next big thing; we could make a mint—"

A loud but somewhat high-pitched voice interrupted Brisco's latest idea to earn wealth and power. "Telegram for a Mr. Brisco County, Jr. Is there a Mr. Brisco County, Jr., here?"

The preteen telegraph messenger boy nodded as Socrates threw up a hand and pointed a crooked finger in Brisco's direction. Almost running across the large room, the young boy came to a sharp stop next to their table.

Eyes wide, he held out the paper in his right hand with his left hand open hoping for a tip. Just to see the increasingly famous Harvard-educated lawyer-turned-bounty hunter in the flesh was a real treat that he'd be able to share with his friends. Mr. County, after all, had already caught and brought to justice most of the members of the Bly Gang that had brutally gunned down his father, the even more famous U.S. Marshal, Brisco County, Sr. A five-cent novel about young Mr. Brisco's exploits was a favorite of the boys his age; still, a tip would be nice, so the boy waggled his hand a couple of times, hoping for more than the look at his hero.

"Here you go, kid," said Brisco, putting a silver 50 cent piece in his hand. The kid gave a quick "Thanks!" as he looked at the bounty hunter one more time. He turned and ran as Brisco looked back over at Socrates. "Probably Lord Bowler. He got a lead on one of Bly's men and was tracking it down to see if it actually went anywhere."

"I still can't believe you're working with Bowler," said Socrates with a grimace.

"Yeah, it was tough at first, but he grows on you," said Brisco.

"So does fungus, but I don't want that either," groused Socrates.

Unfortunately for Socrates, Brisco wasn't listening, having just caught the name of the telegram's actual sender. He breathed out slowly, deliberately.

"Dixie," was all he said.

Soc's eyes widened. "Dixie? Dixie Cousins? What's wrong? What on Earth does she need?"

Brisco was silent for a few moments as he read the short message. Then, he read aloud:

 _My dearest Brisco, At Laney's annual gambling gala. Something wrong. Need help. Please come quick. At Flamingo Hotel in Lon's Valleys. Love, Dixie_

Brisco's heart beat more quickly as he thought of the young woman. What was it about her that made him feel so weak in his knees? Every look, every touch, every whisper made him want to take her in his—

Seeing the bounty hunter's eyes close and the touch of a smile cross his face, Socrates shook his head. "BRIS-CO!" he said, much louder than he's intended. When several other club members turned toward him, questioningly, he added, "Uh, sorry!" Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, "Who's Laney?"

Brisco, brought out of his reverie, looked at his friend. "Ah, Lon Laney, the tent-making king."

"That guy?" Socrates had a disapproving expression on his face. "He applies for membership in the Westerfield every year, but the tycoons who run this place can't take him seriously. He makes, well, _tents_ , of all things!"

Brisco nodded. "True, but if you make _enough_ tents, especially if you're using fabric, thread, and ropes you've produced in your own mills, you can make a pretty penny. They guy may not be up to Westerfield standards, but he's expanded his little empire each year, and for the past few years, he's hosted an annual invitation-only casino gambling festival. I've never been invited, but I understand that it's a real to-do."

"Hmm. I don't get it. Why would he do that?"

"He gets to rub elbows with some of the best gamblers in the west, including some of those who might not want the law to see them," replied Brisco. "It's a winner-take-all event, but Laney makes his money on the entry fee."

Socrates still looked puzzled. "I can see him making a little money on it, but what's his purpose?"

Briscoe laughed. "Little isn't quite right. The entry fee is supposedly $10,000, and he takes 50 percent. With 200 invitations, that's—"

"A million dollars!" exclaimed Socrates. He cringed again on realizing that his voice had been so loud. "That's real money!" he whispered.

"Yep, but you've got to figure that half of the invitees won't show, and then there's the expenses that have to come out of it."

"Still, Brisco, that's a lot of money."

"Yeah, quite a bit, but that's not all. Laney supposedly styles himself as a real gambling connoisseur and he has a vision of starting a real town where gambling is all they do."

"You mean Lon's Valleys isn't a real town? Where is it?"

Brisco smiled. "That, my friend, is the real question. See, you won't find Lon's Valleys on a map. It doesn't exist. Remember, Lon Laney makes tents. The guy builds a little town each summer especially for the event. It's a tent city surrounding a big, fine hotel for him and his special guests as well as a gambling palace. He ships it in pieces by train and they assemble it on site when it gets there, somewhere up in the mountains, where it's cool and far from the law. It looks like they're calling it 'The Flamingo' this year."

Socrates was frowning. "That's a strange name for a hotel."

"Yeah, but with the gambling angle, it just might be flashy enough to work."

"I guess. Say, why haven't I ever heard of this?" asked the dapper man.

"Soc, it's not exactly high profile, and the town's only there for a week," replied Brisco.

"What do you mean?"

"From what I heard last year, once the event is over and the champion has been named, they set up fireworks all over the place and set it all on fire. The guests were standing around making bets on the fireworks as they were going off overhead."

"Wow! Burning it down, even for entertainment, sounds like a waste," said Socrates.

"It probably is," agreed Brisco, "but it's supposedly too expensive to ship everything back to San Francisco and store it to the next year."

"What about the hotel and casino?"

"Same thing, all burned to cinders. It's said Laney wants to set up a permanent gambling mecca somewhere, but he just doesn't think it would work. It's either too hot or two cold most anywhere he could do it where the law wouldn't be a problem. Maybe he'll pick a hot spot and we can sell him some of our cubed ices."

Socrates nodded. "All that could be a problem, and the name, 'Lon's Valleys,' sounds a bit off to me, too. It would never work." Both men were thinking of the opportunity lost when Socrates asked, "Since you don't know where it is and since it's only there for a few days, how are you going to find it?"

Brisco held up the paper. "Socrates, Dixie's telegram had to be sent from somewhere."

~ABCJ~

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Thanks so much for reading. Your responses and feedback will be greatly appreciated._

 _Brisco was always looking for the next big thing, and the writers had a lot of fun with that. They also seemed to enjoy playing with names. Kudos to anyone who wondered about the name Festes Crump. Sorry, it had nothing to do with 'Gunsmoke's Festus Haggen. Instead, I'd been thinking about Professor Wickwire, played by John Astin, and how I might bring him into the chapter. It didn't work, but John Astin had earlier played Gomez Addams in 'The Addams Family' in the 1960s. His wife's brother was Uncle Fester, known by his full name as Fester Frump._


	2. Ch 2: My Sweeth't's the Man in the Room

**Chapter 2: My Sweetheart's the Man in the Room**

Like a great big top, the huge tent was filled with more men than she could count beyond the glare of the lights focused on the stage where she stood. It was the end of her second and final show of the evening and Miss Dixie Cousins smiled and waved into the bright spotlights as if she really wanted to be there.

In truth, Dixie wanted to be far, far away, someplace more civilized where she didn't constantly have to deflect the blatant verbal innuendos or fend off the attempted ham-handed groping of the multitude of uncouth scoundrels in Lon's Valleys. Even worse was the far more sophisticated but still-unwanted advances of the event organizer, San Francisco industrialist Lon Laney. The man seemed determined to get her out of her costume and into his bed. While she loved her corseted show-girl outfit with its exaggerated tail and the big feather boa, she would have much preferred to be sharing it with only one particular man rather than Laney or the crowd before her.

On catching her eye, the conductor nodded to her and then gave the cue. The band started playing the music of a wildly popular song that had come out a few months earlier. Singing loud enough to be heard throughout the tent, Dixie began:

"Ev'rybody has a sweetheart under the rose,  
Ev'rybody loves a body, so the old song goes…"

The song started slowly but became more suggestive as it went along, and the men in the crowd became more enthused as she sang, with loud clapping, hoots, and hollers.

"My sweetheart's the man in the moon.  
I'm going to marry him soon.  
'Twould fill me with bliss just to give him one kiss…"

Of course, Dixie played up the words, blowing a kiss to the crowd and then more for the unmissed dozen that followed. She then hid coyly behind her boa when she sang the end of the first chorus:

"Then behind some dark cloud where no one is allowed  
I'll make love to the man in the moon."

The giant tent, the top of tentmaker Lon Laney's product line, practically exploded with the wild cheers and clapping that followed. Many of the men on the front rows seemed to be offering themselves, quite suggestively or even worse, to Dixie on the stage, but, forcing her smile, she shook her head and waggled finger at them as the band played a refrain to let her catch her breath and to stretch out the show to the extent possible.

While Dixie took every opportunity she could to perform and improve her craft, she'd taken some jobs that had turned out to be downright dangerous. After more boyfriends and lovers than she could count over the years, she'd finally accepted that she had no interest in men other than the one that usually nestled between her breasts. While she didn't see him nearly as often as she wished, she kept her Brisco in her heart and over it in the gold locket that he'd given her a few months earlier.

Thinking of Brisco and wondering where he was, she missed the opening of the second verse so she winked at the conductor and made a round of the stage, shaking the tail of her costume and spinning the boa to more wild applause as the band played on through. By the time she made her way back around, she was able to start to sing at the correct point with the band's music.

The last chorus was the worst, but she braved on, singing:

"Last night while the stars brightly shone,  
He told me through love's telephone…"

 _Oh,_ she thought as she continued on, _if we only had one of those newfangled devices here so I could call him!_

She closed the song with its final words:

"We are going to marry next June.  
The wedding takes place in the moon.  
A sweet little Venus, we'll fondle between us  
When I wed my old man in the moon."

Some of the men familiar with song were singing along near the end and they substituted a much bawdier phrase for "A sweet little Venus," even making it difficult for Dixie to keep from laughing. Once again, the crowd went wild, leading to Dixie singing all but the first verse over again.

She was still bowing, waving, and doing the forced smile when Lon Laney walked out on the stage to join her. The man's arm was like a lasso as it snaked around her waist and pulled her close. Very close.

"The fabulous Miss Dixie Cousins! Let's hear it for the lovely little lady!"

Dixie's blood was almost boiling over the unwanted bodily attention and the insulting "compliment," but she'd had to deal with similar things many times before, so she stood and smiled and waved. And then she unexpectedly sneezed into her hastily crooked elbow.

"Oh! Excuse me!" she said as she patted her nose lightly. She followed with little cough. "I do believe I may be coming down with a cold."

"You poor dear!" exclaimed Laney. "Step right over there, honey, and I'll be with you in a few moments after I update our participants on tomorrow's agenda."

Dixie moved over where Laney had indicated and would have continued on toward the hotel and her room but two large men with very large guns and even larger muscles stood in the way. They both stood staring at her, blatantly undressing her in their minds. She gave a little smile before turning away with a quick swivel and thrust of her hip that would have almost certainly drawn their eyes.

 _Better there than elsewhere._

Lon Laney finished his address with his raised hands waving to the crowd as they cheered. Three quarters of the remaining participants would be eliminated in two rounds of games the next day, finally bringing the group down to the size where the poker tournament would change to one-on-one double elimination. The cheering went on for a while, even among the large number of participants who'd already been eliminated in the early rounds.

"Sweetheart, come over to my room and join me for a nightcap," said Laney as he grasped her elbow with more authority than Dixie preferred. "We'll put on that music doohickey, get comfortable, and dance—"

"Aa-choo!" sneezed Dixie again as her eyes watered. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Laney—"

"It's Lon. Remember?"

"Of course. It's just that I think it best that I go—ACHOO!—get some rest before this cold gets worse so I'll still be able to perform tomorrow. We wouldn't want all of these guys without any entertainment, would—Achoo!—we?"

"Aaah, no. Of course not." Laney glanced back at one of his guards and pointed to the group of "ladies" now making their way among the crowd after Dixie's rousing warm-up. Laney made almost a quarter of his total profit on the venture off the backs—or other attributes—of the women, but he flashed two fingers, figuring that wouldn't cut his profit that much. One of the guards moved away to go pick before all of the prettier women were taken, and the other approached with Dixie's cloak.

Dixie sneezed several more times as they crossed the street to the big, prefab hotel, and then up the stairs to her room. Outside the door, Laney, who'd been holding more than he should during their walk, made to kiss her but Dixie sneezed again and deftly stepped into her room with a quick "Goodnight! Achoo!"

Once inside, she quickly locked the door as she leaned against it and sighed.

 _That was entirely too close. That man is an octopus!_

Stepping to her window, Dixie looked out into the darkness at the temporary town that was Lon's Valleys. Settled at the intersection of two valleys converging on an alpine-like lake a few miles off the main rail line, it was a pretty place in daytime if one didn't look too closely for all of the cruelty that it concealed. She couldn't see much tonight with clouds covering the sky, obscuring the moon and the stars.

She pulled the curtain, kicked off her shoes, and threw her cloak and boa on her four poster bed before unhooking and peeling off her hose. Each of the posts was topped by a large pineapple, long a symbol of welcome and hospitality in her native south and beyond.

 _There's only one person I'd welcome here at the moment_ , she thought as she draped her hose over one of the pineapples.

Looking at the steaming tub of water—one of the perks of her contract—she finally smiled. This was one of the major benefits of her work, where she could slide in and attempt to wash away some of the stress and sliminess that seemed to too often accompany it. Dixie closed her eyes and, imagining that it was Brisco's hand, ran her hand over her shoulder and chest with a soft caress before she began to unfasten the hooks of her corset. Free of the garment, she tossed it on the bed, too, and started to step into the tub before seeing her locket on the nearby bureau.

She opened the locket to see her man. Brisco wore his hat while looking over his right shoulder at the camera. He'd held his pistol in his left hand with the barrel rested against his shoulder while giving a perturbed look. She didn't know why he hadn't shaved before having the picture taken—or if he'd even had it taken; it almost looked unposed—but the little photograph was an almost constant reminder of her man and the love she'd slowly grown to have for him since their first confrontation over a year before.

Propping the locket up so she could see the little photograph of him from the tub, she slowly stepped into it. The liquid heat seemed to cling to her calves and legs as she lowered herself deeper into the water. There was a sharp intake of breath just before reaching her waist, but then Dixie smiled as she slowly continued her descent. She leaned against the back of the cast iron tub and sank down a bit more until the luxurious warmth came to just above the tops of her breasts.

Dixie gave a long sigh. "Ahhh, Brisco. My sweet Brisco. How I wish you were here."

She started to close her eyes to relax in the soothing water but a sound suddenly caused her to start. Frightened, she looked down at the base of the bed where she saw two sets of fingers curl against the bottom of the rail. There was a scooting sound as a dark head wearing a tan hat came sliding out from under it.

Turning his face toward her, Brisco asked, "You called?"

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 _Thank you for reading. Any responses or feedback will be greatly appreciated._

 _Dixie's_ _song featured in this chapter is "My Sweetheart's the Man in the Moon," written and composed by songwriter and vaudeville performer James Thornton (1861-1938). It was released to the public in 1892. The song is in the public domain with the words taken without restriction (so it does **not** violate FanFiction's terms & conditions) from The New York Public Library's digital collection:_

Digitalcollections dot nypl dot org/items/510d47dd-f30d-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

 _The song references "Love's Telephone," showing that the device, invented by Alexander Graham Bell in 1876, had started to make serious inroads into popular culture as well as more homes in areas outside of the country's larger cities._

 _The song itself was recorded for the phonograph (invented by Thomas Edison in 1877) by Elisabeth "Bonnie" Cox Thornton, James Thornton's wife and a popular singer in her own right. A drawing of her image was recorded on the cover of the sheet music for the song._

 _Pineapples became the symbol for hospitality because they were so rare and hard to obtain in the American Colonies and in Europe. A cut pineapple at a meal showed that the hostess would spare no expense to honor her guests. Less affluent hosts would sometimes even rent a pineapple by the day to symbolize their hospitality without actually cutting it. Pineapples eventually came to adorn bedposts (which, when going beyond the traditional guest bed, may seem rather odd in a supposedly prudish society), entrance posts and gates, and, later, welcome mats._

 _The photograph as described in Dixie's locket is the primary advertising photo used for the series and the DVD box set._


	3. Ch 3: Rub-A-Dub Tub

**Chapter 3: Rub-a-Dub Tub  
**

Water pooled on the floor around the base of the tub, with more spilling over the side as time passed.

As the splashing water finally calmed and the swirling waves subsided, Dixie said, "Ooh, Brisco! I'm so glad you came!"

"Me, too—" he replied but was unable to say more as she resumed her apparent effort to smother him with her kisses while pressing tight against him.

While enjoying it immensely, he mumbled, "Mmm...mmm...Dix?" when he finally found an opening. "What's going on? Why'd you send for me? And did I really need to sneak into this place?"

She huffed lightly at him ruining the mood as she slid backward off his lap and rested her back against her end of the tub, her breasts once again sinking just below the water but this time being covered by her arms.

Brisco untangled his legs and took his spot at the other end. They both started laughing as they tried to reposition their feet and knees to mutually comfortable spots.

"This tub could be a little bigger."

"I don't know. I think it was just right," said Dixie with a grin. "I had it in my contract that it had to be so big. See, I was thinking I might have a certain special visitor sometime."

"Would I know him?"

She gave him a big splash, causing him to wipe his eyes, as she laughed, "Bastard."

He grinned but wasn't done.

"Enh!" she squealed. "Now, now. Seriously, Brisco! Enough of that! For the moment, at least. "

"Uh, sorry!"

" _Sure_ you are," she giggled. Her face became more serious as she continued, "I need your help. I overheard Lon Laney talking to someone, a big bald guy with some type of foreign accent, about something supposedly 'huge' they're planning in Frisco. I couldn't hear it all, but it sounded like a bank robbery."

"Why would Laney pull something like that?"

"There's a rumor around town that the tentmaking business just isn't what it used to be. Turns out that half of the tents he used to make were sold to the military and most of the other half went to the railroads and settlers and such. We're at peace with the Indians now and most of the land is settled so the demand for tents has taken a huge dive. Railroads still use them when they're building lines, but they're mostly built. Maybe a prospector or two still has need of a tent occasionally, but there hasn't been a gold rush in, what? Ten or fifteen years? In our modern times, nobody, except maybe teenage boys, wants a tent just to go scooting around the countryside and go camping in."

"I don't know," said Brisco. "I've known a few girls who might want to do that, too. Maybe even more if there are boys in the tent."

She gave him a skeptical look while again splashing some water his way.

"Heh! Stop that!" He splashed a little back toward her.

Dixie giggled as she put up her hands, trying to keep her hair dry. Smiling happily, she slid forward to give him a quick kiss and then slid back to her end of the tub. More water sloshed out as she continued. "Well, Laney's business is in decline and his attempt to switch some of his tentmaking equipment over to making trousers, like Mr. Strauss supposedly did, didn't go over too well. The canvas was too thick and stiff. Nobody wants pants they can barely sit down in; I think he lost his shirt on that deal."

"Or his maybe pants?" They both laughed before Brisco continued. "Yeah, old man Strauss knew to get out of tents years ago and now already owns most of the pants business in San Francisco. Laney would have a tough go competing with him even if his changeover had worked. So what about this setup? Socrates and I played with the numbers on it; Laney's got to be making a killing."

"Except he borrowed the money for it this year and will have to pay it back with interest. When he settles up the books on this shindig, he'll make a pretty penny but not nearly enough to continue financing his other operations."

"Aah! Hence his interest in outside and possibly illegal income."

"Exactly."

"So," mused Brisco, "a failing industrialist decides to get into the bank robbing business. He meets up with an unknown party to set things in motion. Is he getting his own crew, is he going in with the bald guy, or is he doing it with someone else?"

"I don't think he's in charge of the actual heist; it sounded like he's essentially putting up his money to finance it. Therefore, if it works, he's gets a good return and is in good shape. If not, or if they get caught, he'll lose everything."

"If that's the case, he'll be like a cornered predator, very dangerous. Dix, we've got to be careful. There's good cloud cover tonight so I better get back outside to check on some things." He started to rise to get out of the tub.

"Brisco County, Jr.! Sit back down! I'm not done with you!" Dixie pulled him back down into the tub, leading to another big slosh.

As she drew close to him, Brisco's breath caught for a moment and he said, "Well, if you put it _that_ way..."

~ABCJ~

"Brisco, do you really have to go back out?" Dixie was wearing her night clothes while brushing her hair.

The lawyer-turned-bounty hunter was buttoning his shirt. "Yeah, if this is what we think it is, I need to get some information to start proving it and establish a cover so I can operate in the open tomorrow to actually stop it."

"Wait...you're not coming back tonight?"

"No, Dixie. I'll have to ride into Lon's Valleys in the morning so people see me arrive. If I just walk out your door in the morning, there will be the question of how I got in here. No telling how Lon Laney would feel about that. Besides, Comet's probably ticked that I haven't come back yet. I told him it would be late, but you know how he gets."

"Comet could wait, but give him my love," said Dixie. "As for Laney, I know exactly how he'd feel, and it wouldn't be good. I don't know what it is about that guy but he gives me the shivers. Fortunately, I sneezed tonight when he first grabbed and I just couldn't stop. Not that I really wanted to; coming down with a cold seemed to be a great way of getting out of the late night encore performance that he was expecting. Believe me, Brisco, that _wasn't_ in my contract!"

Brisco, now fully dressed, took her into his arms. "I know, Dix. Unfortunately, I have to go now. If anyone asks, we know each other and used to date, but we had a huge falling-out and can't stand each other now. That's the best way to keep you safe—"

The edge of the door splintered and it flew open as a big man came crashing into the room and falling to the floor. Brisco tried to shift Dixie behind him, but she clung tighter in the surprise of the moment. He was reaching for his pistol at the same time but stopped when he saw three pistols outside the door pointing right at them as the other man started to get up.

"That's right, Mr. County. Raise your hands!" called Lon Laney from the hallway. "And step away from the whore."

"Who are you calling a whore, you rat bastard!" exclaimed Dixie angrily, disengaging from Brisco and making a move toward the door.

One of the pistoleers stepped into the room, covering her. Seeing her way blocked, she made a lightening-like slap with her hand, only to have her wrist caught with her palm just inches from the man's face. He clicked back the hammer on his pistol even as the other two entered with their guns trained on Brisco.

"Now, now, Chauncey! No violence. To the whore, anyway," said Laney as he followed them into the room. He had a big, white Persian cat with blue eyes perched on his left arm and he was stroking it, with his other hand. The cat looked bored but seemed willing to tolerate the attention.

Brisco's eyes were focused on the men with the guns trained on them as he said, "Dix-ie..."

Understanding the situation, she sighed, calming herself as she stared at the cat to avoid looking at Laney and flying into him. "That's quite a pussycat."

"Isn't she?" agreed Laney. "I am actually fortunate in that regard. Pussies _do_ seem to be a dime a dozen in these parts, but this one was a recent and very special gift from a new business associate. While sometimes demanding, as they tend to be, she's doesn't usually cause a huge mess, like some, or shred the furniture."

"Lucky you," said Dixie sardonically. "So, why'd you come barging into my room, anyway?"

"The fortune of circumstance. Someone downstairs reported a leak. With the nature of the prefab construction used for this hotel, it was easy to remove a panel or two and trace the water up to your room. I'd left orders for no one to bother you without me being present—"

"How sweet," she deadpanned.

"For your protection as well as protection of my own interest in your particular assets, of course—so the guards called me. I thought it would be simple to solve and we might even find that your cold had dissipated so we could have that nightcap and I could find out if you are as good as I'd heard; however, when we arrived, we heard a male voice so we took the liberty of listening to part of your conversation from outside your door. Now, instead of the simple leak we were expecting, it seems we have a broken door, a two-bit whore, and a real problem." Staring at Brisco, Laney added, "A really big problem."

"With you using that foul language about the lady and keeping those guns on us, I'd say so," agreed Brisco.

"Yes, but the guns will stay that way to help us avoid the other problems that the famous bounty hunter would most assuredly bring us." With the pistols covering his prisoners, Laney stepped closer.

It was at that moment that Dixie sneezed.

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_**

 _Thank you for reading. Please take a moment to leave a quick review to let me know if you're enjoying it (all of the reviews to date are spam and have nothing to do with the story!)._

 _Levi Strauss was a major industrialist in San Francisco. His firm made tents before switching focus to the riveted denim jeans that are still commonly known as Levi's. As he neared the end of his life, he set up the Levis Strauss Foundation in 1897 and died in 1902, leaving his clothing company, valued at over $125 million, to his four nephews._

 _The next big gold rush was in Alaska, starting about three years after this story takes place. Prospector went north with their picks, shovels, tents, and other supplies._

 _Dixie's idea of boys "scooting around the countryside" may have become_ _the Scouting movement, which was established in 1908 by Sir Robert Baden-Powell (Boy Scouts) and his sister, Agnes (Girl Guides in 1910). The Boy Scouts of America was established in 1910 and the Girl Guides of America followed in 1912, with the latter being renamed Girl Scouts of the USA a year later. Interest in camping soared across America among boys and girls. The Coleman Company, one of the largest makers of camping equipment in the 20th century, including tents, was formed in 1900._


	4. Ch 4: Buried in Boot Hill

**Chapter 4: Buried in Boot Hill**

One.

Two.

Three times Dixie sneezed as Laney moved closer to her. He stopped when he saw her eyes watering and tears running down her face.

"And I thought you might be faking, my dear, but if so, you are a much better actress than I gave you credit for. As ridiculous as it may seem, it's almost like I'm stirring up a cloud of pepper any time we get close together today." He puffed toward her, leading her to sneeze again and his men to laugh at her predicament as they turned to admire her despite her sneezing and tears. "Wonderful, Miss Cousins! I finally have you under my complete control. See?"

He breathed in as if to puff at her again, leading the men to tense in anticipation of a good belly laugh.

What they didn't know was that Brisco was anticipating that moment, too. As Laney blew a puff of breath toward her, Dixie sneezed and the cat hissed, followed by a growl as it jumped from Laney's arm, scratching him in the process.

The men laughed at the same time and Brisco moved fast. He hit the first man as he spun, sending the surprised henchman crashing into the window, over the sill as the glass broke around him, and then, with a cry, out to fall down into the temporary street below.

Brisco didn't have time to look, for he was already moving on to the first of the pistoleers. Grabbing a pressing iron—it was cold, regrettably—from atop the bureau, the bounty hunter chopped down with its base on the man's wrist even as he was turning back toward his captive. The man cried out as his pistol went flying from his hand, but he screamed even louder as Brisco's boot hit right below his kneecap less than a second later. The man crashed downward toward the floor.

Again, Brisco kept moving, bringing the iron around for a blow to the side of the middle pistolero's head. The man dodged sideways yielding a glancing blow for Brisco but the man lost his footing and fell to the floor with a crash.

However, Brisco didn't come through unscathed. Two of his fingers gripping the handle hit the man's head in the process, causing the iron to slip from his grasp. It went flying, hitting the far wall and falling somewhere behind the bed. There was no time to retrieve it; Brisco's boot crashed down on the man's wrist causing him to lose his gun.

The Colt went skidding across the floor, too far away for Brisco to get it either, for the third pistoleer was moving. With the gun coming up toward him, Brisco stepped forward as he made a block with his left hand and brought a smashing blow in with his right just a moment later. The pistolero twisted, falling.

It was at that exact moment when, somewhere, in the back of his mind, Brisco heard Dixie scream, but it was too late. As he turned toward her, he got the briefest of glimpses of Lon Laney and something large and dark speeding toward his eyes.

He had practically no time to react before a terrible pain hit him and all went black.

~ABCJ~

The forest was dark about a mile from Lon's Valleys. The only lights were the stars above and the gentle glow of some lights in the temporary town in the distance.

Comet stood looking toward those lights, almost as if he expected them to change. With his ears up and occasional shifts of his head, the horse was seemingly alert for any signs of anyone approaching and any wild animals, too.

At a few seconds past 12:03 AM local time, Comet picked up a foot, put it down carefully so only the front of the shoe was touching the ground, and then dragged it toward himself. The curious mark he made was immediately adjacent to four other, very similar marks, each made at approximately an hour interval after the one before. All, that is, except for the first, which was made approximately one hour after Brisco's departure at 7 o'clock that evening.

Looking at the set of marks, the horse shook his head for a moment before giving an expression that Brisco might have considered to be one of concern, if horses are actually capable of such looks. He continued to look toward the lights for another fifteen minutes before scuffing the ground through the middle of his five marks. At that point, he took another look all around and then started walking toward the distant lights of Lon's Valleys.

~ABCJ~

He wasn't sure why he was dressed in the muddy football uniform or why he was being carried on the shoulders of others wearing uniforms as muddy as his own but he heard his name called out several times as the group carried him in the door and then, rather roughly, dumped him on the floor.

It took him a few moments to get his bearings. He was in a bar in Cambridge after a game versus the Yalies. Brisco couldn't remember doing it but he felt as if he'd scored the winning points.

"Here's to Brisco! Brisco County! Yaay!" called one of his teammates.

When his name was called, two older men dressed in business suits turned their heads to look in his direction. Quizzical looks covered both faces before they turned back toward each other at their table. Brisco sat down but the ever-present beer seemed to pass him by each time despite his best efforts to snag one of the mugs.

"Excuse me," called the younger of the men, who was now standing near him. "Excuse me, but did I hear correctly that your name is Brisco County?"

"That would be me," Brisco replied.

"Not exactly a common name," said the man, "so I hope you don't mind me asking but are you related to a U.S. Marshal?"

The man looked friendly and not threatening, so Brisco nodded. "Yes, sir. That would be my father, Brisco County, Senior."

There was a smile. "Mr. County, my friend and I are friends of your father's. We worked together on occasion for some Treasury cases some years ago. Would you join us for a drink?"

When they reached the table, Brisco said, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Either one of you."

"Please, tell your father that Misters Borden and East said hello."

Brisco was about to reply but the bar slowly faded from view. In its place was a letter, covered with his father's familiar handwriting. Brisco read the first couple of lines aloud, but as he continued, he heard his father's voice taking his place.

"Thank you for sending the regards of my old friends Borden and East. As undercover agents who once worked directly for the president, I expect that you won't be too surprised when I tell you that those aren't their real names. I haven't run into them in years so I suspect they are getting close to retirement age, though, like me, I doubt that any of us will ever accept that curse.

"That said, son, understand that they can be trusted if you're ever in a jam and seem to have no way out. They've helped me on more than one occasion and I am happy to say I've returned the favor. Both are quite wily; in fact, if you recall the story I once shared with you, it was East who told me the importance of always having a knife, or at least a sharp nail, buried in Boot Hill…"

His father's voice and the image of the letter faded as drums started pounding around Brisco and waves of nausea swept over him. It took him a few moments to realize that they weren't actual drums but, rather, the pounding of his head. He couldn't be sure but he suspected that both the beat and the nausea were due to a powerful knockout blow administered by Lon Laney.

As he tried, unsuccessfully, to stand, he made two other important discoveries. Instead of being dumped on the floor of that Cambridge watering hole, he was actually on the floor of a small, dark room with the only light coming in through an open transom above the door. To make matters worse, his hands and feet were tied, with his hands secured tightly behind him.

Brisco struggled for a time but found that the bonds allowed no play; there would be no twisting to escape them. Therefore, he paused for a few moments to try to clear his head and come up with an escape plan.

His first thoughts were of Dixie; where was she and was she safe? Had she been able to escape from Laney's clutches? Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do for her in his present condition, so he tried to put her out of his mind with an unspoken promise.

 _I'll get to you in a little while, Dix. Just hang on, Sweetheart._

Something about his late father his late father was next to fill his mind. Senior had hunted down and brought to justice some of the toughest outlaws in the west before finally meeting his fate at the hands of the Bly Gang. He'd always been careful when writing letters to his son to make sure that no information they contained could come back to cause trouble for him or his family if such a letter was intercepted by his enemies. In particular, when it was something they'd discussed, Senior would sometimes use an anagram or a similar word to remind Brisco of the meaning without coming right out and saying it.

Moments later, Brisco was struggling against the ropes, forcing his wrists down his back as he tried to bring his heels up. Contorting himself as much as he could, he finally felt his hands touch the back of his boots. Then he reached the heel and finally the tiny sharpened projection on the outside edge of each where they wouldn't be able to harm Comet.

 _Comet! Where is he?_ he wondered as he repeatedly worked the rope against the nail that he'd pounded it into the boot heel. After having cut off the head and using a file to bring the shaft to a short but sharp point, it was practically invisible. It was also quite effective at sawing through ropes if one could reach it. Fortunately, it didn't take long. The rope was cut, jaggedly, and he had his hands free in just a few minutes. It took even longer rubbing them to restore his circulation before he went to work on the rope at his ankles.

The rope binding his feet was almost untied when Brisco heard a bump at the door. He looked up and then started trying to find a weapon before Laney or his thugs came back in to finish him off, but he was having no luck. He was still feeling around when the door splintered at the lock and came flying open.

Still without a weapon in hand, Brisco was about to try to go on the offensive against his enemies with his feet still half asleep when Comet stuck his head into the room.

The horse cocked his head at an angle as Brisco exclaimed, "Well, it's about time you showed up!"

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_**

 _According to a 2015 report entitled_ "The best and worst cat breeds for allergy sufferers" _by Daniel Coughlin published on msn dot com, Persian cats are regarded as being among the worst breeds for allergy sufferers due to the dander that accompanies their heavy shedding. The word allergy was originated in 1906 by the Viennese pediatrician Clemens von Pirquet, from the Greek words "allos" (other) and "ergon" (work)._

 _Brisco's horse Comet was portrayed as the smartest horse in the world. In actuality, several horses were used, with each being trained in certain skills. I don't remember him ever counting time, but who's to say he couldn't?_

 _When this story was conceived, I had the idea of how Brisco County, Sr., might be used in it but I never guessed that R. Lee Ermy, who played Senior, would pass away before the story could be completed. Therefore, this chapter is dedicated to Mr. Ermy's memory._

 _Finally, I'm not considering this a crossover but who's to say that Brisco County, Sr., might not, at some point in his career, have crossed paths with two rather famous Secret Service agents in their journeys across the wild, wild west?_


	5. Ch 5: Recovering, Re-covering, & Recover

**Chapter 5: Recovering, Re-covering, and Recovery**

Still fighting off the aftereffects of the blow he'd taken, Brisco climbed up on Comet and let the horse take them away. The noise from the shattered door was sure to draw attention and, after all he'd gone through to escape, Brisco didn't want to hang around for another round. He felt sick at his stomach and his head ached, as did everything in between.

He clung to the saddle horn leaving Comet to find his own way as they slipped out of the tent city. By taking their time, Brisco looked more like a drunk haphazardly making his way home than someone intent on escaping.

The ride back to camp was a slow, swaying affair, reminding Brisco of his Harvard days in his sailboat around Boston and trips down the coast to the Cape. There was always a picnic basket packed with food and usually a couple of bottles of wine and a female companion with whom to share it. The gentle rocking of the waves would set the mood—

But not now! With the sickness finally coming to a head, he leaned out and threw up. Comet stopped and looked back, giving him a Comety frown.

"Sorry, boy," said Brisco quickly, before another round of nausea overtook him. When he was finished, he felt a little better but added, "And no more thinking of sailboats tonight."

~ABCJ~

The rest of the ride back to camp was a blur. When he awoke, it was almost noon the next day.

At least Brisco hoped it was only the next day.

After a visit to a nearby stream to clean up, the bounty hunter felt reasonably human again and he focused his thoughts on how to rescue Dixie, capture Laney, and foil the man's nefarious plan, whatever it was. Unfortunately, not knowing the last part meant that the plan itself had to be discovered before the others could be accomplished since Dixie's information indicated that Laney wasn't in the scheme alone. Capturing Laney would probably leave the other man to pull the heist alone and keep all the proceeds to himself. Since no one knew who the man was, bringing him to justice and recovering the loot would be a very long shot unless he made a mistake in the process of the robbery.

Brisco stood up a little while later and said, "Comet, new plan. Dad told me about a lawman friend of his who would sometimes dress up as an old prospector to keep from being recognized. They're going to be on the lookout for me in Lon's Valleys so a little disguise like that may be in order."

Comet wobbled his head, giving a skeptical look, but Brisco continued. "We may need to make a quick exit when I figure this out and rescue Dixie, so I'll need your help, too." Picking up a stick, Brisco started drawing in the dirt as he explained the plan. Comet's skepticism only seemed to get worse as it went along, but when Brisco mentioned needing a few strands of hair from Comet's tail...

~ABCJ~

The sun was setting behind the mountains to the west when someone called, "Hey, old man! Why are you comin' here?"

The old prospector with the stringy beard looked up at the guard who'd stepped out from behind a tree at the edge of Lon's Valleys. "Whad'ju say, sonny?" he called in a croaking voice as he cupped a hand to his ear.

The guard approached. "There ain't no entry into town tonight, Pops."

"Town? You mean this-here tent village? I come in last night fer a drink and no one stopped me, so I'm back fer a bottle tonight. You ain't gonna' deny an old man his drink now, are ya'?"

The old man looked harmless and wasn't wearing a gun, so the guard nodded. "Okay, old timer, but I didn't see ya' and you didn't see me, okay?

"Deal, sonny!" agreed the old prospector with a nod.

"Say, stay out of the main tent. They're holding another round of the poker tourney in there tonight. I wouldn't want the boss to see ya'."

Brisco doffed his dusty hat to the guard, thinking as he did that he'd never be able to get the hat clean and back into something resembling the right shape.

Minutes later, he'd found a spot where Comet could hide in plain sight with the other horses. His horse seemed to appreciate the thought even though he didn't appear to be particularly fond of the company. Brisco put a single finger to his lips and Comet responded with a annoyed shake of his head.

Brisco entered the back of the hotel as if he belonged there, and was half surprised when no one challenged him. He suspected that the clapping, shouts, and loud groans coming from the main tent was the reason. Players would be being eliminated as the evening progressed and there would be many side bets on who would be gone and who would continue on to the next round.

Unfortunately, when he reached the top floor, Brisco peeked over the top stair to see an armed man—one of the pistol packing hulks from the night before, if he wasn't mistaken—standing outside what he suspected was Laney's personal quarters for the event. Withdrawing back down the steps, the bounty hunter was about to take a moment to consider his options when he saw a sign on a door.

~ABCJ~

On the stage, Dixie was attempting to stay as far away from Laney as she could since getting close to him would bring on another round of uncontrollable sneezing. Lon Laney wasn't cooperating, though, trying to keep his female captive as close to him as possible for all of the attention she drew from the crowd.

Dixie's attention, however, was focused primarily on the stout, bald man who was sitting at the table just in front of the stage. His girth strained the buttons on his gold vest as he smoked a stogie while holding a glass of scotch in his right hand. Like about half of the crowd, the man's eyes were fixed on her rather than the card game that was currently underway on the stage. While she was used to and could deal with the lecherous looks she often received from certain members of her audiences, the stare the man was giving her chilled her to the bone. Unlike the usual lechers, he was, she was quite sure, one who would not take no for an answer.

The sharp ding of a bell drew her eye as Lon Laney raised the arm of the winner of the current game. "And William 'Brilliant Bill' Nelbon advances to our Suite of Sixteen! Let's have a big hand for him!"

Brilliant Bill raised his hands and waggled his fingers, allowing the light to reflect off the diamond rings worn on all eight of them, before taking a bow as Laney stepped back to the forefront.

"And now, our own Miss Dixie Cousins will sing a song and keep you entertained for a few minutes while we clear the table and set up for our next match between local fan-favorite Carlton "Carson City" Klondyke and the ever-dapper 'Gentleman Jack' Darby. Miss Dixie Cousins!"

Despite her apprehensions, Dixie stepped out to the front of the stage and started to sing. As she did, she searched the crowd, hoping to catch sight of Brisco, who, according to what she'd heard from her guards, had escaped during the night. She hoped that was really the truth and that he'd actually gotten away safely, even if it meant Laney would get away with all the money in every bank in San Francisco.

A sideways glance caught Lon Laney giving her a perturbed look, so she forced a smile as she faced the crowd and picked up the tempo on her song. Strutting across the stage, she spun her boa and blew a few kisses to bring the audience to its feet. Laney's smile had returned as she did a 180 and started back the way she'd come. When she did, she couldn't help but see that the bald man's eyes never left her.

~ABCJ~

The guard outside Laney's door perked up when the bellhop arrived carrying a fresh stack of linens on his left hand.

"Mr. Laney said he wanted the sheets changed. Again," griped the bellhop, stopping just a couple of feet from the guard.

"Didn't tell me about it," replied the guard, his hand drifting to his Colt.

"No problem," agreed the bellhop. "It must be nice to be in the know with the boss; I've never been so lucky. So, what was your name?"

"Uh, Chet?"

Brisco, wearing the uncomfortable bellhop outfit since he couldn't find anything else that would fit, struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. The guard clearly wasn't connecting the dots on why he needed it, so he filled him in. "Just want to make sure Mr. L. knows that it wasn't me that didn't do it, it was one of his associates that countermanded his order. Have a—"

The guard, finally understanding, said, "Wait! Here, go on in and do it. But no funny business, you hear? I'm keeping the door open to watch."

"Hey, I understand," agreed Brisco, wondering why, for once, things couldn't be easy.

He glanced around the room and was surprised to see his Colt .45 holstered and lying atop the desk near Laney's bed. His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the room for any incriminating evidence while he removed and folded the bedclothes, but he was disappointed but unsurprised when he saw nothing of interest but the Persian cat nestled on an oversized pillow on the settee. The cat was watching his movements with an intensity equal to that of the guard, Brisco said, "Nice kitty," and paid it no further attention.

When he was done, he set the bedspread and blanket on the chair in front of the desk. Then, he started stripping the sheets.

"Oh! No wonder he wanted this changed!" He rolled the sheets into a loose ball and pitched them on the desk before starting to put on the new set. When they were in place, he retrieved the blanket and spread and put them back on, too.

"There! All done. That wasn't so hard," he said out loud, but glancing back at the guard out of the corner of his eye. Brisco quickly scooped up the dirty sheets from atop the desk and headed out the door, glancing at the white Persian, whose eyes tracked him out the door.

As it clicked closed, Brisco turned to the guard and said, "Chet, it's all changed and all clean. You have a nice evening."

"Hmmm" was Chet's only response, but he seemed to relax at least somewhat as Brisco left the room and started toward the stairs. On seeing that, Brisco breathed a slow sigh of relief as he went down the stairs, thankful he hadn't had to draw his Colt from under the jumble of sheets. He could imagine the hammer snagging on the fabric, and, in the event that he had to fire, that everyone in Lon's Valleys would show up to take him prisoner again.

Stepping back into the Housekeeping room, Brisco quickly changed from the uncomfortable uniform back into his own clothes and then removed the makeup and the stringy beard. With his six-gun back in place, he made his way to the back of the main tent where he slipped inside to look for Dixie, Lon Laney, Laney's mysterious foreign partner, and, as unlikely as it was that he would be successful in finding it, anything he could discover about their planned criminal enterprise.

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_**

 _Dear readers, approximately two chapters remain, though it could stretch to three. Thanks so much for reading. Unfortunately, I haven't received any feedback on this story at all, so your reviews, comments, follows, favorites, or constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated._

 _The old prospector was the most common alternate persona assumed by the Lone Ranger, who just might have been a contemporary of Marshal Brisco County, Senior. Similarly, 'Gentleman Jack' Darby just might be a somewhat older version of the character (John 'Gentleman Jack' Darby) portrayed by Richard Long in several episodes of "Maverick."_


	6. Ch 6: A Penne for Your Thoughts

**Chapter 6: A Penne for Your Thoughts**

With the evening's matches and shows over, Dixie was escorted down the street in the middle of a large group to Laney's private dining room at the hotel. On entering, she felt a chill go up her spine when she saw the bald man already seated at the center of the head table. Laney came up and greeted him, but she noticed that the man missed Laney's offered hand as his eyes were locked solely on her.

"Ahem, Baron von Huffeld, this is Miss Dixie Cousins."

"Delighted, I'm sure, as am I to make your acquaintance, Miss Cousins. You will join me in my personal quarters for the rest of our stay."

Dixie started to object, but Laney's grip tightened on her arm, almost as if in warning. She was doing her best to keep from wincing in pain as the industrialist said, "Baron, I'll have her things moved to your room."

"No!" exclaimed Dixie despite Laney's grip, but the pressure suddenly released only to be followed by a backhanded blow from Laney's fist to her stomach. She grunted and bent forward in pain.

"Baron, she is rather independent-minded, so feel free to exercise, well, you know, whatever's necessary, to bend her to your will."

"Of course, Laney. Now, leave us for a time." A wave of his hand seemed to dismiss the host from his mind. "Miss Cousins, please, be seated. Would you like to join me for a late night snack?" Huffeld pointed to a silver bowl with a dome cover, which he removed to reveal a jumble of tubular pasta. A silver tureen with a brownish sauce set next to bowl on the large serving platter. "The sauce is bratwurst-based and is from a recipe of my native Prussia, served over the Italian pasta, one of their true contributions to modern society. Sit. Now."

Dixie dropped into the seat without being told a third time as the baron dipped a large serving of the penne and placed it on his plate before dipping a much smaller quantity and placing it on a second plate. He drizzled a small amount of sauce over her pasta before placing the plate before her. "Try it. If you like it, there's more."

The smell was stronger than she liked so she had to fight the urge to push it away, but her fear of the big Prussian kept the plate in front of her.

Huffeld smiled as he ladled more and more sauce over his own plate. "Try it, Miss Cousins. You might enjoy it."

"Truthfully? I doubt it."

"Don't worry about it then," replied the man with a cruel smile. "It will still be waiting for you when you get hungry. Or, that is, hungry enough."

"You wouldn't!"

"Just try me, Miss Cousins. You'll find that I mean what I say. For now, I'll say that we are going to be spending a lot of time together and get to know each other very, very well."

At the thought of the implications, Dixie's anger grew and her face turned red. "If you touch me, you'll regret it."

"No, Miss Cousins. My dear wife back in Prussia might regret it if I like you better, but I assure you, either way, I won't regret it in the least."

~ABCJ~

From a distance, Brisco had seen Lon Laney escorting Dixie to the hotel in the middle of a number of his guards. He followed along and slipped in the back of the hotel when no one was around.

After all of the trouble the night before, it had seemed practically too easy, which was confirmed a few minutes later when he heard the sound of a hammer being cocked.

"Don't move, Ba-risco. Mr. Laney said you might try something like this."

"Pete? Pete Hutter?"

"Yeah, it's me," replied Pete as he slid Brisco's pistol out of the holster.

"Pete, I heard you got killed again. That a stampede got you."

"Naw, there was a stampede, all right, and there are some hoofprint scars up there, but the hair's growing back in purty good and my vision doesn't wander too, too much. And I swear, one of them prints on my derriere looks just like a lucky tattoo, being a horseshoe and all. Course, there's that long-running debate about whether it's lucky turned up or lucky pointing down—"

"Excuse me, Pete, but you mentioned Lon Laney. Does this mean you're back on the dark side again?"

"Yeah, sorry. I have to go where the money is and right now, Mr. Laney's the one doling it out. And he has cookies. Course, with my gut, I can't eat many."

"Sorry to hear it, Pete."

"Thank ya' kindly, Ba-risco. Now, if you don't mind, we got to go see Mr. Laney. He's been expecting ya', after all."

Brisco started walking in the direction Pete indicated, but stopped when two of the pistoleros from the previous night stepped out of a door. "Good job, Hutter," said one of the men. "The baron's waiting on you, County. Right in there."

Entering the room, Brisco caught the look of defeat that crossed Dixie's face ever-so-briefly before she restored her forced smile. Then Brisco took a look at the man sitting at the table with her.

"Mr. County, I presume," said the bald man. When Brisco gave a brief nod, the man smiled. "Since it won't matter anyway, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Baron Manfred von Huffeld of Province Schlesien, Deutsches Kaiserreich."

"Imperial Germany," said Brisco. "And you're Prussian?"

"Very good, Mr. County."

"I didn't sleep through _all_ of my classes. Guess you're here on business. Funny business."

"You could say. I've only recently arrived in America to win my fortune, or perhaps, to steal it." The man took a bite of pasta from his plate; Dixie's, Brisco noted, looked untouched.

"So you plan to do something so common as to rob a bank?"

"No, Mr. County, nothing so common at all. It will be, if you will, so uncommon that it will be long remembered in your country and in the annals of crime. Even then, however, the job now in the works is only the shadow, the specter, if you will, of the criminal empire that I am planning in the future. Unfortunately, all great adventures must start somewhere and with but a single step. And, proper capital, of course. Therefore, the gold I will obtain from this venture will help finance what is to come."

Brisco laughed at the idea. "Gold? There's not enough gold in all of the banks in San Francisco to make it worth your while for the effort it would take to rob them—wait! You're not talking about banks are you? You're planning to rob the U.S. Mint!"

"Very perceptive, Mr. County. It is, after all, the repository of more gold than any single facility anywhere west of Philadelphia. As an aside, where, may I ask, did you get such a plebeian name?"

"My father gave it to me, as his father gave it to him. Speaking of which, Huffeld? What about that? Yours sounds like something out of a children's tale. You know, like little pigs and a wolf."

Expecting to draw Huffeld's ire, Brisco was instead surprised when Huffeld laughed and actually agreed. "Yes, I've been thinking of changing it to something that sounds stronger or perhaps more intimidating. In your language, 'huff' just sounds so weak, like that wolf of which you spoke, with all that huffing and puffing. When he says that he's going to _blow_ the house down—well, that word sounds strong! I don't know, but maybe I'll think of the right word someday."

It was at that moment when Lon Laney reentered the room, this time carrying the white Persian cat. Brisco saw Laney's eyes widen as if in surprise, but then Brisco was as surprised as Laney when the cat yowled, scratched Laney, and jumped out of his arms only to bound back up into Huffeld's arms a moment later. Huffeld gave Laney a frown as he started to stroke the cat before looking at Dixie. "Laney, if you can't take care of such a fine creature and make it happy, you don't deserve him. Or her."

Red with anger, Dixie sneezed, causing Huffeld to rise and move away. "Enough of this. We move forward tonight. Laney, you are to join us in San Francisco on Sunday after your festivities here are at an end. No reason to make anyone suspicious by disappearing in the middle of your own soiree."

Laney nodded, but Huffeld was already turning to the pistoleros and Pete Hutter. "You three are to take Mr. County on a ride on my power yacht on the lake. Mr. County, it might interest you to know, the lake is thought to be one of the deepest in your country. Gentlemen, see that he gets a good tour of the top under the beautiful moon and then put him in chains so he'll make it all the way to the bottom to find out if that part about the depth is true. When you get back to shore, open the seacocks and send her back out to join Mr. County."

"Mr. Baron," said Pete, "a boat that small won't have seacocks."

"Then shoot holes in the bottom. I've heard that you're good at that. No reason to leave any evidence in case the earlier owner comes looking to reclaim her."

With that, Huffeld turned, pulling Dixie along, and moved toward the exit. As he went out the door, Brisco saw fear in Dixie's eyes as she mouthed something to him. Huffeld turned back and added, "Goodbye, Mr. County. It's been nice knowing you." As the door was swinging shut, Brisco heard him continue, "Well, my dear, come along. We have a train to catch in Truckee."

~ABCJ~

Two hours later, the yacht, if one could properly call the dingy little boat that, was chugging along under the power of its steam engine. Brisco's mind was racing frantically, working through every possible scenario to allow him to escape, but with the two pistoleros, Pete, and the boat's captain, who looked to be as tough as the others, Brisco didn't see any good possibilities.

He was trying to work his hands out of the chains, but even with the coating of blood from the scratches he'd made in the process, they weren't slick enough to slip through the bonds.

It was then that Pete Hutter said, "Oh, gents, the baron said to take him out to the deepest part of the lake, but I wouldn't guess he'd know if this part was any deeper than any other. Anchor's away."

One of the pistoleros nodded and grabbed Brisco's arm as he said, "Okay, County, I don't know what you're thinkin' right now and I don't really care, but forget it. It ain't gonna' happen, whatever it is. What will happen is you're gonna' step off this boat on your own or Hank and me are gonna' toss you off, and we won't be none too gentle in preparin' to do it. My advice is to save yourself the pain."

Brisco felt Hank's hand grasp his arm and both men started to lift; as much as he wanted to, there was nothing he could do to stop them. Looking back over his shoulder, he looked at Hutter.

"Pete, if you see Dixie again, tell her I, uh, I love her, too."

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 _Thank you for reading. I will greatly appreciate any responses or feedback you might have to offer._

 _At 1,645 deep, Lake Tahoe is said to be the second deepest freshwater lake in the United States._

 _The San Francisco Mint was established in 1854 and moved into its second home in 1874. This building was one of the few in the city that would survive the great earthquake and fire of 1906._

 _Truckee (originally Colburn Station) was one of the nearest stops from Lake Tahoe on the main rail line. In addition to being famous as a railroad town, Truckee was also the location of the ill-fated Donner (Donner-Reed) Party of 1846-47._

 _I hope I've gotten Pete Hutter's speech and mannerism's correct. He was one of the more interesting characters in the recurring cast for the series. If you see anything too out of character, please let me know._

 _ _As for Huffeld, whether he had any famous criminal offspring or perhaps grandchildren, I will leave it up to the reader to speculate.__

 _Finally, as for the end of the story, will Brisco make it out? Will he see Dixie again? Will he be able to foil Huffeld's plan? Come back and find out when the final chapter is released sometime soon._


	7. Ch 7: Appointments & Disappointments

**Chapter 7: Appointments and Disappointments**

"Pete, if you see Dixie again, tell her that I, uh, I love her, too."

"Ba-risco, some things just get lost in the translation, and telling a woman you truly love her should usually be done in person rather than through the hearsay of a third party. Chet, Hank, in actuality, I should probably have said 'always' rather than 'usually'—

The click of the hammer of Pete's piece sounded loud to Brisco as the outlaw-turned-good-guy-turned-outlaw-again continued, "—so why don't the two of you sit Ba-risco down and get those chains off of him or else you'll be sporting a couple of brand new holes where holes shouldn't be. And Cap'n, don't you think about anything stupid either, or else the same goes for you."

Realizing what was happening, Chet said, "The baron is going to be really mad, Hutter," but he still turned the key in the lock, allowing Brisco's chains to fall away.

"See, that doesn't really concern me," said Pete. "The baron didn't hire me and I have a sneaking suspicion that Lon Laney's cash supply is gonna' be drying up sooner rather than later. Now, Cap'n, let's see how quick you can get us back to that dock. I'm suspecting Ba-risco has an appointment elsewhere."

~ABCJ~

It was mid-morning when Comet thundered into Truckee. Brisco jumped from the saddle and ran up to the ticket window, with Comet right behind him. "When was the most recent train to San Fran? And when's the next?"

The ticket agent was looking at the horse crowding into the window with its rider. "Uh, uh, about an hour ago, mister. Next one's this afternoon, 3:45. Say, are you okay? And what's with the horse?"

Brisco fought off a yawn. He was exhausted after the long night and the fast ride from Lon's Valleys. He was worried about Dixie and his head still hurt, too, from the blow he'd taken over a day and a half earlier. Still, he didn't want to get into it with the agent, so he said, "No, but if you'll direct us to the telegraph office, I might be."

"Right over in the next room," said the ticket agent. "Hey, but that horse can't go in there! Hey! Wait!"

A few minutes later, Brisco had sent three telegrams, purchased tickets on the afternoon westbound train for him and Comet, and made accommodations in the livery stable for Comet, over the horse's stern objections, for the next few hours. Brisco then rented a room at the hotel and was sound asleep just seconds after climbing into the bed.

~ABCJ~

The gas lights of the station cast dim glows as Brisco exited the train. He gave a whistle and Comet walked down the ramp from the livestock car without bothering to tell his fellow equine passengers goodbye.

"Brisco! Brisco County!"

Man and horse turned to see Socrates Poole waving as he approached with James "Lord Bowler" Lonefeather right behind wearing a scowl at Soc for informing everyone within hearing distance that the famous bounty hunter was back in town.

Glad to see his friends, Brisco ignored the faux pas. "Evening, guys. You got the telegrams. Good! Any news on Baron Huffeld and Dixie?"

Bowler shook his head. "Nah, they didn't get off here, Brisco, so I checked down the line. From the description you sent of Huffeld, looks like they got off a couple stations back, but the station agents couldn't be sure. Seems they were lookin' at the pretty lady and didn't get a look at the guy. None of them knew where they were headin', either."

"Soc, check the hotels, in town and on the outskirts—"

"But Brisco, that will take all night! And what about the robbery?"

"The Treasury guys will have that place surrounded tighter than a drum, so I doubt that anyone will be getting in there. Dixie's another story, though. If we don't find her, there's no telling what the Prussian will do with her. The government men won't be trying to find or rescue her, so that's up to us."

Socrates nodded. "We'll find her Brisco. I'll get with one of the hoteliers at the Westerfield and will get word out through the city. If they've checked in anywhere, we'll find them."

"Good." Brisco next turned to Lord Bowler, his partner of the past year. "The robbery they have planned is big, so they need wagons to haul the gold out of the mint. Quite a few wagons. Check with your contacts for anyone who's been taking wagons for hire. I suspect they'd want to use a mix of freight wagons and panel wagons to avoid it looking to obvious to anyone on the street. With Laney involved, I also suspect he'll be using his own people rather than having to pull in the hired teamsters."

"Makes sense," agreed Bowler. "Most drivers would understand that pullin' into the United States Mint with an empty wagon and drivin' out with a full one smacks of some-um' fishy. I'll take a look into it."

"Thanks, guys. See what you can find and let's meet at the Westerfield at 7 AM."

"What are you doing, Brisco?"

"Taking a long shot. See you in the morning."

~ABCJ~

The sun had already been up for a good while when a very tired Brisco climbed down from Comet in front of the Westerfield. He handed the reins to the livery man with instructions for Comet to be fed and stabled. "Sorry, Comet, but no sneaking in this time. I'll be back later and will need you here waiting for me and ready to go."

Socrates was seated at a table when Brisco arrived and Bowler walked in minutes later, with breakfast being delivered by the staff right afterward.

"What did you guys find?"

"They didn't check into a hotel," replied Socrates. "At least not a decent one. The guys are still checking out flophouses and the like, but those people might not be willing to let us know even if they're there."

"Same thing with the wagons, Brisco," said Bowler. "Nobody's talkin', but I think it's 'cause nobody knows nuthin. I' got people still lookin', though. What about you? What did you do?"

"I went to see Lee Pow and he's agreed, with stipulations, to have the Scarred Foot Clan on the lookout for Dixie and the baron. Then, I made a trip to Lon Laney's house on Nob Hill—just a few blocks from yours, Bowler—but the place was dark. There are a couple of servants in the servant's quarters, but that's it."

"So we' got nuthin', too," groused Bowler.

"But we do have some more ideas," countered Brisco. "Soc, most of the robber barons have a country estate. Or more. What about Laney?"

"I've never heard of one, but it might be on his Westerfield application that's been denied so many times. Let me check right after this."

"Thanks. Bowler, another question for you: if we can't find the wagons, what about where they'd be taking them? Riding in on the train last night, my first thought was they'd stash the gold in a train car and have it hauled away, but then they're at the mercy of the railroad and any thieves that might be on the lookout for them. Having a bunch of guards in the boxcar or business car would be a dead giveaway."

"Where would they take a train car, anyway?" asked Socrates.

"There are lots of places they could take it, but as long as that gold is in the United States or the territories, they're at risk of being caught and losing it. Huffeld only recently arrived in America and he wants to return home so I'm thinking a ship so he can get out of the country with the gold as quickly as possible."

"Man, if he gets the gold on a real ship, we'll never see it again."

"That's right, Bowler. Now Dix said Laney was financing this. Part of that could include buying a ship for Huffeld to get away. Laney could recover his expenses and takes his share in coins, greenbacks, and a few gold bars that could be melted down and would then be untraceable, with the baron sailing off to Europe with the rest of the gold. Socrates, check to see if Laney owns a ship or if he's purchased one recently. Check with the robber barons, if you have to, to see if anyone's recently sold him one. Or if they know anyone who has."

Socrates nodded despite Brisco's continued referrals to his employers as robber barons, particularly when Huffeld was the real robber baron in this case. He excused himself to go check the records, while Brisco and Bowler had another cup of coffee.

"Brisco, when do ya' think they'll do it? You said Laney's supposed to return on Sunday night. You don't think this Huff guy will wait to do it then when he gets back, do ya? I don't think they'd have enough time to get done by Monday morning when the Mint reopens, particularly when the place is surrounded like you said. My first thought is that they'd want to do it on Friday night or maybe Saturday night, so they'd have time to get it all, but that's probably gone out the window now anyway."

Brisco seemed lost in thought for a few moments before saying, "Not necessarily, Bowler. What if…what if there is an abandoned or rental building right across the street from the Mint?"

Bowler's expression changed. "You mean they could be tunnelin' in rather than coming in through the gate?"

"Yeah. The tunnel could already be dug except for the last foot or two. If they break that and into the vault on Friday night, they'd have all weekend to pull the gold out through the tunnel, put it on one or two wagons at a time rather than having them all lined up. The wagons could be rented from a number of different companies, staged at different times, and the drivers wouldn't even know what they were carrying if it was boxed up right."

"That could be why I couldn't find a bunch of wagons being hired. Nobody'd notice someone hirin' one or two from a bunch of different places. Still, wouldn't the Mint have some guards inside that would let people know if somebody broke in?"

"Yeah, the baron's men would probably have to incapacitate or even kill the few guards on duty inside, but believe me, the guy wouldn't bat an eye at having to do that. That's why I'm so worried about Dix; he'll dispose of her like last week's fish when he's done with her."

Bowler rubbed his chin as he thought for a moment and then said, "That means they'd have to have to get all the gold out before the guards change shifts. When the guards for the next shift show up and nobody lets then in..."

"Right. They'd have twelve hours max to get in and get out," agreed Brisco. "Then a few hours more and the ship and Dixie will be gone for good."

Lord Bowler pulled the gold watch from his pocket and looked at the time. "Socrates'll probably take all day lookin' for the ship so I'll go check on the buildings. What do you have planned?"

"I'm going to see Ethan Emerson."

"Who?"

"The bank guy. He knows every banker in town, including, I suspect, the head of the United States Mint. If there's one person who can get an appointment and pass along our suspicions without raising any of his own, it's Emerson."

~ABCJ~

Brisco was the first to arrive at their meeting late Thursday night. That left him a few moments to think and worry. He sighed as he remembered what he'd said to Pete and how he'd meant every word, but it was Pete's words in reply that had been a nearly constant reminder to him for the past two days. Now, to make it worse, he was growing increasingly concerned that they hadn't found Dixie. Brisco knew that he had to not only rescue Dixie but he also had to personally tell her how he felt.

Socrates and Bowler entered the room and Soc was visibly excited.

"Brisco, I think I found the ship. I had to trace it through a couple of sales and some blind holding companies, but I'm almost positive that it's Laney."

Bowler's brow furrowed. "Almost?"

"Well, as positive as I can be when trying to keep from raising any red flags. It's docked on Pier 19 and has been taking on supplies like it will be leaving soon." He slid a paper across to Brisco. "All the info is there, including the best layout I could get for you."

"Bowler, how about the building? Were you able to find anything?"

"Yeah, I found it, them. Three actually—"

"Three?" exclaimed Socrates. "And you questioned an 'almost'?"

"Those little red flags work both ways, lawyer."

"Okay, guys," said Brisco. "Soc, any word on Dixie, an estate, or anything of the sort?"

Socrates shook his head. "Not a thing, but it's possible they've got her stowed on the ship. It's primarily a freighter, but it's got a deck of first class cabins, too, with some smaller cabins on the two decks below. Based on what you've said, I imagine Huffeld would find himself fairly comfortable on it."

"And he'd be able to hide Dixie, too, Brisco, and if they get out of the harbor with her, we'll never see her or the gold again."

He looked at his friends with a determined expression. "Emerson's having lunch with the head of the Mint tomorrow to pass along what we know and what we expect to make sure that Huffeld doesn't get away with the gold." Opening the folder of information that Socrates had given him, Brisco looked at the plan of the ship. "That leaves the important part, rescuing Dixie, to us."

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_**

 _The late Julius Carey did a wonderful job playing the deliberately gruff Lord Bowler. I hope I've done him and his dialogue justice._

 _James Drury, the Virginian, played Ethan Emerson, the banker who owned everything, in two episodes of the series._

 _James Hong played Lee Pow, leader of the Scarred Foot Clan, in three episodes._


	8. Ch 8: Ships, Trips, and Tips

**Chapter 8: Ships, Trips, and Tips**

The Chinese freighter that departed the pier with the outgoing tide was a large, four-masted wooden junk with a stack for its steam engine that powered a single propeller. Due to the amount of fuel that it used, the engine was primarily operated when the wind wasn't optimal and conditions restricted the ship's movements. Departing the harbor was a good example of this so the engine was fired up and the ship started on its way.

It had gone less than a mile toward the Golden Gate that marks the entrance to the Pacific Ocean when observers a short distance away on land heard a loud clanging noise coming from the bowels of the ship and saw a puff of thick black smoke belching forth from the stack. Smoke also started coming out of a couple of deck level exhaust vents that led down to the engine room. The ship slowly came to a halt as Chinese sailors were seen swarming the deck apparently attempting to secure the ship and assist with repairs.

On the open bridge, the Chinese captain issued sharp orders but was secretly peeking at his Swiss-made pocket watch, awaiting the time for the next step to begin. As he did, he was wondering why he had let his fifth cousin once-removed talk him into this scheme and whether the American professor with the strange name and wild eyes would have enough of his chemicals to keep up the charade until that time came.

At fifteen minutes to sunset, the captain gave the order to run up a flag requesting assistance from one of the tugboats that plied the harbor. He had to turn away the first two, speaking rapid Chinese and flailing his arms angrily as he pretended to object to the exorbitant price demanded by the tugboat captains for towing his ship in for repairs. Twilight was starting to fade as the third tug, the one with the special mark, arrived. With lines connecting the vessels, the tug slowly started pulling the larger ship toward the repair facility.

Looking toward the lights on the piers and in the city beyond, the captain turned to the man who had approached him as darkness fell. Speaking in Chinese he said, "Revered cousin, I believe your target is in sight. Please confirm that it is time."

Lee Pow rubbed his chin slowly before turning to Captain Pin. "Favored cousin, I agree with your assessment. The Scarred Foot Clan thanks you for your assistance."

The captain smiled as he picked up the striker. While he wasn't sure why he'd agreed with Cousin Lee's request, he found himself becoming excited at the prospect of what was to come this night and the marker from the Scarred Foot that he would hold for the future.

~ABCJ~

On hearing the gong being struck repeatedly, the captain of the tugboat gave the order to his fireman to increase speed as he turned the wheel to steer toward the nearest dock. That was actually Pier 17 but with the currents, he made sure that when they pulled in a little later, they were docking at Pier 19, directly across from a mostly dark steamship carrying only a lantern at each end.

Pushing the Chinese ship against the pier, the tugboat captain watched for the signal and then cut power. With the propeller stopping, he reversed course and backed away. As he did, he saw more gouts of black smoke billowing up from the ship and heard screaming and shouting as the Chinese sailors fled their ship. Not wanting to be caught by the harbormaster as being involved, he quickly steered his tug away into the darkness.

~ABCJ~

With the ship secured to the pier and the gangplanks down, Chinese sailors started fleeing down the ramps carrying boxes and crates. Instructed in advance by their captain and the captain's cousin, the head of a powerful San Francisco tong, the sailors did their best to scream and shout at the top of their lungs to cause as much confusion as possible.

Coming up on deck, Professor Albert Wickwire grinned as he moved quickly to pour pre-measured chemicals into five strategically placed bowls along the ship. Smoke started billowing up immediately as he finished pouring a vial and he moved on to the next. He was quite happy he'd gotten back into town in time to assist his friends with their operation.

On the pier, two of the sailors were uncharacteristically wearing large, traditional Chinese hats as they each carried long narrow boxes away from the Chinese ship to the opposite side of the pier. With a number of other sailors carrying and dropping large crates near them, Brisco and Bowler pulled the cords to make their boxes fall open to reveal two of the Professor's newest devices.

"Brisco, this better work," muttered Bowler as he set the device up as the professor had shown them. "You 'bout ready?"

Brisco, just finishing his setup, agreed. Looking back up at the Chinese ship, he saw Lee Pow standing by the rail. Giving the signal, he said to Bowler, "On three. One, two, three!"

The loud explosion aboard the Chinese ship actually occurred a second or two before the two fired their devices, but the noise was so loud, it was doubtful that anyone heard the much smaller blasts as the padded grapnels were fired. Each of the hooks, which disappeared over the top of the steamer's upper rail, trailed a pair of thin steel ropes.

"Mine's caught," said Brisco, looking at Bowler.

"Yeah, mine, too. See ya' at the top." Bowler grabbed the top bar, stepped onto the one below, and said, "Here goes!"

The big bounty hunter started scooting up the side of the ship at a quick pace as his spring-operated device started climbing up the ropes. Brisco did the same and was right behind Bowler, catching up with him as he neared the top. As they became even, Brisco said, "Bowler, it looks like the Professor's Wall Up-Climber Device works pretty well."

"I don't know, Brisco. Mine's slowin' down. Ah, ah, it's stoppin'!"

"Bowler, you're heavier so the spring had to work harder and ran out of tension quicker."

"Unh, unh, Brisco, it's goin' back down! There ain't no brakes!"

Brisco quickly swung over the rail and dropped a line to Bowler. The big man grabbed it and swung away as the up-climber device continued to gain speed sliding downward, until it crashed onto the pier below and broke into pieces. Brisco's improved prototype, now unloaded but with its spring exhausted, too, followed a few seconds later.

With all the commotion on the dock and the adjacent ship, no one even noticed.

~ABCJ~

Locked in her stateroom, Dixie heard the noise and commotion outside and the approaching hand-cranked sirens, but the guard posted inside the room wouldn't let her open her portal to look out to see what was going on.

"You know, I'm getting awfully hot in here," breathed Dixie as she fanned herself. She went to her trunk and randomly threw a few items out before picking up a thin, white nightgown. "Ah! This will cool me off!" She pitched it on top of the dressing divider and then stepped behind the screen. A few moments later, she tossed her top over the divider, only to see the nightgown shift and fall to the floor just outside the screen.

"Well if that don't beat all!" she exclaimed. "Excuse me? Can you be a good boy and bring me my nightgown. It fell off!"

The guard approached and picked up the nightgown, admiring the thin, practically see-through material. He then glanced back at the door. Convinced that no one would be coming in and that he'd hear a knock or a key in the lock, he decided to deliver the gown personally. He had a wicked grin on his face as he peeked around the edge of the screen. Dixie Cousins stood with her bare back to him, her arm apparently covering herself, but looking over her shoulder as she batted her eyes. His eyes were wide as she turned toward him, dropping her arm away when she brought the clothing iron around with a roundhouse blow with her other hand.

Moments later, she was tying him up with the nightgown he had just been admiring.

~ABCJ~

Brisco and Bowler quickly made their way to the upper passenger suites. Peeking in the window of the door that provided access to the central corridor serving the first class suites, they saw a bored guard standing outside a door about half way down the corridor.

"That's either Dixie's or Huffeld's," whispered Brisco as they ducked down. "I'm guessing Huffeld is supervising the operation at the Mint—"

"So it's Dixie," agreed Bowler. "How are we gonna' get to her?"

Brisco looked down the corridor again but was surprised to see the guard was gone. "He may have seen us. Let's go."

Into and down the corridor they went, but were surprised to see an open door with the guard inside.

"If you come a step closer, I'll let you have it," said Dixie sternly.

The guard, seeing his partner tied up and lying on the ground, said, "Oh, I'll be glad—" but he didn't get any further as Bowler slammed him from behind with his sawed off shotgun.

"Brisco! Bowler! It's about time you showed up," said Dixie huskily. "I was beginning to think I'd made a mistake and all that commotion wasn't for little ole' me after all." She batted her eyes with a grin.

"We'll have time for that later, Dix. Right now—"

"Right now, you'll drop those guns," said Baron Manfred von Huffeld from right outside the door, "or the first bullet will be Miss Cousins' last."

"I thought you said he'd be at the Mint!" growled Bowler.

"I did say I was guessing," countered Brisco.

Huffeld shook his head. "No, my Number Two is handling that."

Bowler turned up his nose and said, "Pee-ew!"

The baron frowned at Bowler questioningly and continued. "If they run into an army of your Treasury Agents as I suspect, I will be sorry to lose him. For now, though, we have changed our plans. When your distraction began, I gave the captain orders to cast off as quickly as possible. Number Two will divert to Plan B if the Mint robbery is successful. If not, then, as those abominable French say, 'C'est la vie.' Now, drop those guns. I won't tell you again."

Brisco gave Bowler a look of frustration that was more than matched by Bowler's own angry glare.

"Okay, Huff-n-Puff, you win," said Brisco with a sigh as he slowly pulled his gun and dropped it on the floor in front of him. Bowler was starting to do the same when Brisco made his move, hitting the door which swung to and caught the wrist of Huffeld's gun hand between the door and the jamb.

Bowler grabbed the gun and ripped it from Huffeld's grip as the heavyset man cried out in pain for his henchmen to do something. They slammed themselves against the door against Brisco's resistance, pushing it open just enough for the baron to pull his hand out and the door to slam.

"Dixie, get behind that trunk!"called Brisco as both bounty hunters pushed against the door, hoping those outside wouldn't attempt to fire through the thick wood into the room.

Just a second later, gunfire did erupt in the corridor, sounding as if it was coming from outside the door and down the hall, but no bullets hit the door. There was thump outside and then the firing ended as quickly as it had started.

Knowing that they were still trapped and that the ship's departure could result in their deaths, Bowler growled, "Let's do this!" Brisco opened the door and he and Bowler covered opposite directions from behind the jambs.

Huffeld's two thugs were on the floor, with one slumped and the other clutching his bleeding arm. The sound of approaching footsteps left Brisco searching but before he could see those coming, a voice called out, "Mr. County? Lord Bowler? U.S. Secret Service! Are you okay?"

Brisco leaned out for a moment and then relaxed, giving Bowler and Dixie a sign that it was okay. "Mr. Borden and Mr. East! Thanks for joining us. We appreciate the help."

"And thank you, young fellow, for the tip," replied Borden as East secured the surviving outlaw in the hall and wrapped a bandage around his wound. "We had a tip that von Huffeld had something planned with a San Francisco contact, but he disappeared early this week and we hadn't been able to put the pieces together until Washington forwarded your telegram message to us."

East nodded, "With your initial information and what you were able to pass along through Mr. Emerson to Mr. Daggett, the head of the Mint, we were able to stop the robbery tonight at the Mint and capture those involved there. Unfortunately, von Huffeld used his henchmen like shields and was able to get out of this corridor. Our guys down on the pier, like young Agent Hendrix here, will capture him and the rest of his gang before they get away."

Agent Hendrix nodded and he and two others led the prisoners away as Borden turned his attention to the lovely Miss Dixie, leaving East and Brisco to finally make overdue introductions.

~ABCJ~

 _A couple hours later at the Horseshoe Club:_

"It's a shame your friends couldn't join us," whispered Dixie to Brisco. "That smooth Mr. Borden, Jordan, or whatever his name was might have given you a run for your money." Seeing Brisco's startled expression, she smiled and added, "Got ya', big boy."

Brisco laughed but was quickly distracted to other pursuits as Dixie's finger traced his jaw past his little scar, turning his face back toward her where her lips met his.

Bowler was debating with Socrates about the size of the upcoming reward for preventing the Mint robbery and his planned capture of Lon Laney and a number of other outlaws. Professor Wickwire was also involved, but he was thinking more about possible improvements to his wall up-climber device and his hitherto unseen need for brakes. Seeing his glass empty, he looked to Ellie and called, "Ellie, dear, another round!"

With a nod, she smiled at him and started to pour.

Their kiss finally ending, Brisco said, "Dix, I'm not concerned about Laney. Bowler will get him, but I am concerned about Baron Huffeld escaping. The secret service agents on the pier said he didn't come by them, so they're probably still searching the ship for him. He won't be taking our country's gold with him when, I suspect, he returns to Europe by whatever means, but mark my words, that man will cause more trouble in the future."

Dixie, looking into Brisco's eyes, agreed, but added, "But not for us, Brisco."

"No, maybe not for us."

Ellie arrived and passed out drinks and smiles. Dixie said, "Oh, thank you, Ellie," and then watched her friend and occasional employer as she moved on to give the others theirs. Ellie handed Socrates his glass last and said something to him that caused both of them to smile. He reached into his pocket and was handing her a gold piece but she smiled, closed his hand, and patted it before taking an empty seat next to him. Dixie raised a brow, not only for the declined tip, but also when she saw how close together those chairs were and the two people sitting in them.

Dixie turned back toward Brisco but she had to keep from chuckling when she saw that her man was watching the same thing she'd just seen. She winked at Brisco and said, "Perhaps there's hope yet."

Brisco laughed, too, but then stifled a yawn. "Sorry, I haven't had much sleep these last few days. I think it's about time to go up to bed."

Moving close to his ear, her lips brushed his neck as she whispered, "Brisco County, Jr., I like—no, I _love_ your plan. I just hope you don't think you're going to fall asleep anytime soon."

"No," agreed Brisco slowly as he started to grin. "When you put it that way, I really wouldn't object one bit to changing it." Rising up from the table, he took Dixie's hand to help her up as he whispered, "In fact, you might just call it a general idea. Calling it an actual plan is giving it far more credit than it deserves."

~ABCJ~

 _Epilogue:_

Lord Bowler captured Lon Laney and several of his men on the following Monday. Bankrupt, Laney's assets were seized to pay creditors and Laney's industrial empire and his name faded from history.

Brisco spent parts of the next few days searching for Baron Huffeld, but never heard of or saw the man again. He visited the offices of the shipping lines a number of times in the two weeks that followed, scanning down through the passenger lists, wondering if he might get lucky and catch Huffeld that way. On his last visit, his finger paused on one line for a passenger who'd booked passage to Rio de Janeiro. Without any proof, Brisco figured that passenger "Blowfeld, M." would probably continue on to his destination.

The rest of Brisco's time was spent with Dixie.

 _The End_

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes:_**

 _Thanks for reading this story. Any feedback received will be greatly appreciated and may encourage me to start another Brisco (and Dixie?) story sooner rather than later._

 _John Daggett served as head of the San Francisco Mint from 1893 to 1897._

 _Ellie, played by Yvette Nipar (pronounced like Piper, according to her website), was portrayed as a waitress or manager at the Horseshoe Club in three episodes. In the final episode, there seemed to be a little spark between her and Socrates, but, sadly, she wasn't brought back for another episode to let it kindle and grow. Thank goodness for the lack of constraints in fanfiction!_

 _Brisco's final line in the story is paraphrase of what his father's ghost told him in the episode "Senior Spirit."_

 _Whether Baron Manfred von Huffeld might have been the grandfather of a later leader of a vast criminal empire is anyone's guess._

 _Finally, as promised in the first chapter, the original prompts that had to be incorporated into this story were:_

 _Chapter 1: Flamingo (Name of the hotel)_  
 _Chapter 2: Pineapple_ _(the bedposts)_  
 _Chapter 3: Pet(s) (the cat)_  
 _Chapter 4: Illness_ _(Dixie's ongoing allergy and Brisco's illness on waking from being clubbed)_  
 _Chapter 5: Sailing (Brisco's recollection leading to "sea sickness")_  
 _Chapter 6: Pasta (the baron's penne)_  
 _Chapter 7: No Prompt (and Chapter 7 was split in two parts due to length)._


End file.
